the way you trouble mine
by coffee-mill
Summary: She's nothing special. Or so you keep telling yourself.


**#1.**

You almost didn't notice her at first. '_Almost'_ is the key word here. It's like she has always been in your peripheral vision: quiet, calm and nearly transparent, something you got used to seeing every day and now you don't pay much attention to anymore.

But you had to pay attention to her. Shit, you had to pay attention to them all, it was your job: observe, learn about them and then help to pick out the best ones. And the first you notice about her is that she's not made for this job. It isn't that she's not smart and intelligent. She graduated at the top of her class. Academically and intellectually speaking, she's a perfect choice. But she's too quiet, too delicate. Too soft. She doesn't have the power to stand up and speak for herself. She'll be eaten alive – and that's a fact. It's only a matter of time. It would be better for her and everyone involved if she just quit.

So you tell her just that. More or less in these words. Okay, fine: it's definitely less than more in these words. But what are you supposed to do when she comes to you, all big-eyed innocence and nonsense about _dealing with moral repercussions of defending a guilty client_? You're so tired of this bullshit. And you are just so damn tired of girls like her: overly idealistic, going to a law school to defend the poor. You've seen dozens of them: they come here and leave as fast as they can. They break. They run away, scared by their peers, their boss or the brutality of the courtroom. The sooner someone tells them that they're not fit for this lifestyle, the better. And if this someone has to be you – so be it. It's almost fun to see them cry and crumble down after hearing your words.

_'You're a misogynistic ass.'_

She looks you straight in the eye, her voice is steely and sharp like a razorblade. There's not a hint of tears in her eyes: instead, you see hot fury in them. She walks away without a second glance in your direction and suddenly you feel a strange urge to go after her to explain and apologise. It has never happened before and you're not sure why it's happening now, but one thing you know for sure: Laurel Castillo is not the typical girl from Brown.

**#2.**

You pick her out. Of course you do. She left you with no other choice. You want to see what's under that calm exterior and more than anything, you want to see that fire in her eyes again. You ignore Bonnie's _'stop screwing the students'_ comments. You are not going to screw Laurel. Sure, you did fuck some students in the past. Usually they were the ones you picked for the team. But this is different: this time, you actually think Laurel would make a great addition to the team.

And maybe – just _maybe_ – you want to see if she surprises you again.

You really hope she won't disappoint you.

**#3.**

You overhear Annalise calling her _'Frank's girl'_.

You shouldn't like that, but you do. Just a tiny bit.

**#4.**

She's nothing special. Or so you keep telling yourself. You've seen prettier girls. Hell, you've had prettier girls. Girls with bigger boobs and longer legs. Girls who would willingly drop to their knees in front of you. Girls who laughed at your jokes and paid attention to you. Laurel does none of it. Most of the time she doesn't notice you - or she actively chooses not to acknowledge you. You don't know which option would be worse.

You, on the other hand, seem unable not to notice her. You can't keep your eyes off of her - your eyes simply drift to her every time she enters the room.

(You notice how she touches her mouth when she's deep in thought and how she rolls her eyes at everything the Doucheface says. You note down every friendly smile she sends Wes' way and every annoyed glance she gives the Prom Queen. It feels like you see every single thing about her, while she doesn't see you at all.)

You really hope no one noticed that. People could think that you fancy her. Which is a ridiculous and preposterous idea, right?

Like you'd ever have a crush on her.

**#5. **

You realise you are screwed the night of the Law Review party.

The first stupid thing you do that night is convincing Bonnie to let Laurel go to that event. You do that spontaneously, the words tumble out of your mouth before you even realise you've spoken. Laurel gives you a slightly surprised look and a small smile of gratitude and with that she's gone. But that seems like a small mistake compared to another one you made that evening.

Because you actually took up on her offer and went to the bar where the Law Review was held. It'd seem that you are old enough to know better and yet-

(You could lie to yourself and keep on saying that you just wanted a few drinks after a long day at work. The problem is that no matter how many times you repeated that, you'd never believe it. Sure, you did want to have a drink. The thing is that you wanted to have it with Laurel. You wanted to sit with her and chat, get to know her better. And get her to know you, to show her that you are not the asshole she thinks you are. That's all you wanted, honestly.)

You walked into the bar and you noticed her straight away, even among all the people. She was leaning against the counter, looking in your direction and smiling – a warm, bright and relaxed smile you've never seen on her face. You felt a brief pang of hope that she was actually happy to see you. Heart beating loudly, you started making your way towards her and then you noticed and realised – she was not smiling at you. No. She was smiling at some hunky and charming guy who just appeared next to her with two bottles of beer in his hands. He whispered something into her hear and she laughed – carefree and happy. For the first time in a long while you felt a surge of jealousy – icy and piercing – coursing through your body. You blindly gulped down a few shots, hoping to wash out the bitter taste in your mouth.

Next morning you wake with a deadful hangover and feeling like you just lost a battle you had no idea you've been a part of.

**#6. **

She's allowed to date whomever she wants to date. It's none of your business. _You don't care. _And yet every time you spot her with her boyfriend, you feel like someone headbutted you in the stomach.

It serves to remind you that she would never date _you_.

**#7.**

You're angry. You're angry that she messed with the jury and put herself in danger of losing her job. You're angry that she came up with this idea in the first place. You're angry that she mocked you, you're angry that you lied to Annalise to protect her. You're angry that she didn't fall right into your arms. You're angry that she is not like the other girls, that she is not another cliché who would be easy to forget and get out of your bloodstream. You're angry that she occupies your mind and your dreams. You're angry that she slowly turns out to be everything you've ever craved for. You're angry that you want her.

You're not sure if you kiss her because you want to punish her or because your carefully constructed _'look, but don't touch'_ facade just broke. It really doesn't matter – what matters is that you have her pressed against her, her mouth against yours and her arms wrapped around your neck. She's kissing you with the same hungry despair you're feeling. Your head is spinning and you probably should stop and take a breath, but you can't. You're afraid that if you stop kissing her, the spell will break and it'll turn out to be just another dream. So you press her closer to you and she willingly clings to you, kissing you harder and-

_'I have a boyfriend.'_

Her words feel like a slap. She leaves without a single glance in your direction and leaves you alone, feeling like a loser. It's funny how cold and lonely you feel all of sudden.

It seems like watching her walk away (_away from you_) is all you do.

And you're afraid that's all you'll ever do.


End file.
